


your father's son

by avoidfilledwithcelluloid



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: Father Son Bonding, Gen, Trans Yagami Light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 08:24:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15115568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidfilledwithcelluloid/pseuds/avoidfilledwithcelluloid
Summary: light and his dad discuss why he's quit the tennis team.secret shinigami gift fic





	your father's son

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AbbodonAbandon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbbodonAbandon/gifts).



> hhbbhbhbhbbb love those yagamis

Light examined the scar on his knee. It was healed over after a month but still echoed the torn skin, the fresh blood and the dark mark left on the green tennis court. Eyes trained on that scar, he heard his father’s voice as background music to his own thoughts. Nothing being said to him stuck to the insides of his ears, instead floating in and out of his consciousness without any attention paid.

A hand shook his shoulder and Light glanced up to his father’s face.

“Light,” his father said. “Tell me again. Why are you quitting tennis?”

“I’m just not interested in it anymore.” Light shrugged and reached down to pick at his scar. In the summer sun, his binder started to squeeze his ribs, all slick with sweat. The outdoor café they sat at had a scattered amount of tables—about six from what Light could see. Each one had a bright umbrella cast over it and white painted metal chairs. Light’s own chair creaked when he moved as though in pain from the slight weight of him pressing down on it.

“It just isn’t like you to quit,” his father continued and folded his arms onto the table. He leaned forward with his glasses covered by a sharp sun glare. Without the cue of his father’s eyes, Light fidgeted, hand still on his knee, and tried to place his face into the correct position. “You’ve never asked to leave anything else.”

“Yeah.” A waiter passed them carrying a tray with two tea cups. Their quaint and girlish pink appearance sent a spike of derision through Light’s spine. His father had taken him to this café before, on his tenth birthday, and given him a charm bracelet with a tiny tennis racket dangling from the chain. He brought his hands to the table. “Well. I need to focus on my studies anyway. High school is soon.”

His father tilted his head down and his eyes became clear again. A long look of concern pulled at his features that Light didn’t enjoy seeing. Concern wasn’t a good look on his father, not when it was directed toward Light.

“Is this because of your—,” his father hesitated and sighed. “Are you quitting because of this whole transgender thing?”

Over a few years, the prickle of embarrassment that followed any mention of “the transgender thing” faded, but still the feeling ran over Light’s skin. The words bounced off his bones until they landed, heavy, in the pit of his stomach. Shame welled in the back of his throat, but Light swallowed it and met his father’s eyes. At a different table, a group of girls sang happy birthday to their friend.

As Light readied himself to answer, a waiter slid to the side of their table. His slicked back hair revealed a tall forehead speckled with pimples. Summoning more politeness than he liked, Light kept his attention on the man’s nose to avoid staring. His father, hands tucked together and body too large for the chair he sat in, regarded the waiter with a cool, nearly disappointed air. Obviously, he hadn’t expected to be interrupted just yet.

“Hello,” the waiter said. “I apologize for the wait. Seems there’s a lot to celebrate today.”

“Hm.” Light watched his father’s serious expression remain unchanged.

“So. What can I get for you today?” The waiter gulped nervously before pulling out an order pad.

“Oh.” Light took the small menu from the center of the table and flipped it open. His hands shook just enough to jumble the small printed words, his mind still occupied by the previous, unfinished conversation. Without having read a single thing, he shut the menu and passed it to his father. “I’ll have a small coffee, please.”

“Light.” His father’s voice was stern. “You’re too young for coffee.”

“Dad. I’m thirteen,” Light said. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Hm.” Setting the menu down without a glance, Light’s father spoke to the waiter while still staring at Light. “I’ll have the same as my son.”

“Ah. Yes.” The waiter cleared his throat and, when Light chanced a look, his eyes were flat with discomfort. At the back of Light’s neck, his long hair, just brushing the collar of his shirt, was heavy as a rope pulling him down. He sat up straighter, back rigid, and fixed a tepid gaze on the man. His father gave out a strong, pointed cough. The waiter snapped back to him and a sanguine smile pasted over his surprise. “Two small coffees. I’ll be back soon.”

The waiter scrambled off with the shifting steps of a lizard chased into grass. Light’s lip twitched, still held in stiff obligation, but the line of it weakened upon looking at his father. Brow heavy over his dark, focused eyes, Light’s father’s face barely shifted as he regarded his son. He brought his intertwined hands to his cover the lower half of his face with elbows propped on the table.

“You shouldn’t feel like you have to hide things from me,” his father said. “You can be honest about why you’re quitting. I’ll understand.”

In the sky, a cloud trail spelled out nothing but a long line spun from a tiny jet. Light held his hands in his lap, fidgeting with the urge to gnaw savagely on his nails. Oh, if only his reasons were so normal as to be about his transgender issues. Those would be digestible for his father and fill in the appropriate gaps. After all, wasn’t he supposed to suffer for his identity? Wasn’t that the correct narrative to write out in the blue sky in clouds near ephemeral in their texture?

The truth was Light quit because he was bored. He was bored of winning every match against girls who could hardly hold a racket let alone place an actual shot. He was bored of always hearing them talk about pop idols instead of proper backhand grip and bored of the mind-numbing lack of effort it took to be the best. It wasn’t worth it, really, when there wasn’t any challenge. But boredom wasn’t enough of an excuse to trot out, not the cruel pointed boredom Light had in his stomach. So he feigned a sigh and looked at the table. He thought for a moment about letting his lip protrude into a pout, but decided against it. Better not to play up any kind of childishness; it would be a distraction from the realism of his transgender plight.

“I just don’t feel right playing on the girl’s team.” Light tried to shake his voice into a slight melancholy, but the balance of it tipped into depression. Clearing his throat, he lifted his gaze back to his father and tried again. “It’s been really hard, you know, still wearing those skirts. I just don’t think I belong there anymore.”

“Oh.” Light’s father took a breath, a deep uncomfortable timbre lining his voice. Part of Light rolled his eyes in the back of his head. After an entire year of him being out to his parents and still rumbles, still the shudders of discomfort. His father squeezed one hand into a fist and then a smile, small and blindingly genuine, curled on his lips.

“Light,” he said. “You’re a very smart—,” here he coughed and then continued, “—young man. If you don’t fit on that team, we can always find a new one. Maybe there’s a boys’ league you can join.”

A throb of frustration pinched between Light’s eyebrows and he began to restructure his plan. So playing the transgender card wouldn’t work? Maybe he had to be short and blunt. Of course. He should have thought of that approach first; clear cut language was the only kind his father understood.

“I don’t want to play tennis at all.” Light kicked his feet against the rungs on the metal chair. Dull pings echoed from his motions. “I’m not interested in it anymore.”

“Not interested?”

“No.” Over his father’s shoulder, the waiter came into view with a plastic tray crowned by two white ceramic mugs. “I don’t like it.”

Expression carefully neutral, the waiter set a mug in front of Light and his father. As quickly as he came, the waiter folded himself up and walked off to a table of women laughing.

Light hooked a finger into the handle of his mug and turned it to face the right. He grabbed two French vanilla creamers then paused, attention flickering to his father, who had already started to sip his coffee black. Light dithered with the creamers between his fingers before dropping one back. A palatable silence laid flat over their table while Light poured his creamer in and then used his pinkie to stir his coffee into a light brown.

As he took his first drink, his father set his mug down and nodded absentmindedly.

“So,” Light’s father said. “What are you interested in?”

Light paused. His mind’s delicate gears squealed trying to find a quick answer but there wasn’t one. A great deal of things interested Light—architecture, the way people yelled in reality television shows, the way ants looked when you dripped water on them until they drowned. But none of those things held his attention for longer than a moment and even then he felt his interest fading in every interaction. He waited, coffee mug on the table and losing steam, until one gear turned and rang out the answer he needed.

“Mysteries.” Light looked his father in the eye. “I’m interested in solving mysteries.”

His father put a hand over his mouth and closed his eyes, still nodding. He breathed in deeply, features drawn in concentration, and Light felt off kilter. He’d introduced the subject in hopes that his father might take the bait and be led away from the topic of tennis. But now he wasn’t sure where the idea would take them.

Finally, his father took his hand from his face and met Light’s gaze. He wasn’t smiling but his eyes were so clear that Light felt important, recognized.

“There are a few cases at the department we’ve been having trouble with,” his father said. “We’ve been at them for a bit but haven’t made progress. I know you’re smart, Light, so maybe you’d like to help with them. If you have some time between your studies, of course.”

The beat of Light’s heart stuttered like a butterfly stopped in time. Working on a case? He took a long sip of coffee to hide the excitement welling up in his expression.

His father had never invited him to participate in something so adult with a not insignificant air of masculinity surrounding it. The police force, his father’s department, was a locked room with a handle that Light’s hands slipped on when he tried to turn it. All those men with their backs turned to him, only acknowledging him in passing “what a smart girl” comments that made Light’s palms grow slicker with a panicked sweat. Yet here was his father, holding the door open and telling Light to come inside.

“I do.” His voice cracked and Light winced at the horrible little peep. “I mean. I can make time.”

“Your help would be appreciated.” Reaching across the table, his father patted Light’s hand. “I know you’ll do well. You’ve always been good at figuring things out.”

The solid weight of his father’s hand on his sent a fidget through Light, but he remained still. He couldn’t jeopardize the good will he was being offered. Instead, he grew a soft smile with no teeth showing—perfectly harmless.

“Thank you, Dad,” Light said. “I won’t let you down.”

**Author's Note:**

> you like this? you want more great death note content? follow me on my [tumblr](http://translightyagami.tumblr.com/)


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